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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074521">Blazed (Smoking Weed is Gay)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreendaleHumanBeing/pseuds/GreendaleHumanBeing'>GreendaleHumanBeing</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ACAB, Angst, Banter, Bisexual Gwen, Bisexual MJ, Bisexual Peter Parker, Brunch, Burnt Out Peter Parker, Can you imagine how many weed strains are probably named after avengers here omg, Capitalism sucks, F/F, Finally some horny stuff, God so much banter, Gratuitous Emojis, Gwen Stacy Lives, Gwen's GF reveal, I'd give it all for MJ and Gwen, Insecure Wade Wilson, John Waters, John Waters references, Johnny Storm is a good dude, Kissing, M/M, Merc Bar, More weed smoking, Nosy MJ, Peter Parker Loves Wade Wilson, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Sulks, Peter is like 26, Recreational Drug Use, Sexting, She's finally here, Shitty Day Job, Sister Margret's is Hellhouse, So much oui'd y'all, Stoner Aunt May, Stoner Peter Parker, Texting, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Is A Dick, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, Twilight References, Wade Loves John Waters, Weasel is perpetually stoned, Weed, leftist peter parker, some angst too, twilight - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:00:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreendaleHumanBeing/pseuds/GreendaleHumanBeing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is burnt out. Wade has been watching a lot of cult classics. Everyone tells them they're in love. Five times these fucking nerds smoke weed together.</p><p>'“Petey-Pie, you gorgeous baked Alaska.” Wade swoons onto Peter’s ratty sofa. From an inconceivable pocket over his right pectoral, he snatches out his own pre-rolled joint. From within a Paw Patrol backpack (cop dog scrawled over with ACAB) Wade pulls out a fucking blowtorch. To…light his joint. Peter jumps, rolls his eyes then quickly lies down to rest the headache he just gave himself from rolling his eyes. '</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>155</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. In His Shitty Apartment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Black Lives Matter. Black Trans Lives Matter. Trans Lives Matter. ACAB.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter smokes. Wade breaks and enters. Jacob imprints on Renesmee</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the burn-out leftist bisexual stoner Peter Parker I've always dreamed of. Using oui'd to cope through the pandemic inspired me to write this. After reading so much early-20s Peter, I've been wanting to see a world-weary Peter and thought, why don't I just write him? Also, if you love John Waters and Deadpool you know that DP would be obsessed with him.</p><p>Warnings for drug use obvs but only weed! If you're unfamiliar with any terms check out this handy-dandy guide: https://potguide.com/marijuana-glossary/ </p><p>I fully did not have a beta for this though my girlfriend gave me some wonderful feedback.</p><p>I was inspired by bad timing (the clock ticks in spite of us) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/17903480/chapters/42266684) to enter this fandom because meekinheritance's Wade and Peter fucking rule.</p><p>Now as always:</p><p>Black Lives Matter. Black Trans Lives Matter. Trans Lives Matter. ACAB.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <ol>
<li><strong><span class="u"> In His Shitty Apartment</span></strong></li>
</ol><p>Peter Parker shucks off his backpack the minute he pushes his coiled body through his narrow apartment door. For all his super-strength, his back <em>hurts</em>. The pack thuds softly into a growing and, thus far, unclimbable mountain of dirty laundry establishing itself in his tiny entryway. His keys clang together gently as they too fall into a pile of Tasks Peter Has Put Off*.</p><p>(*including [but not limited to]:</p>
<ol>
<li>Various energy bills growing increasingly frequent and more alarming with time.</li>
<li>Unopened &amp; concerningly small letters from potential PhD programs.</li>
<li>Mail that belonged to the tenant before him that he has no fucking clue what to do with. Is it illegal to throw it all out?? Will Peter get put away for mail fraud before he gets prison time for being Spiderman?)</li>
</ol><p>Bypassing the Leaning Tower of Dirty Dishes in his tiny kitchenette, Peter taps his aching wrist. Yawning, he’s launched onto his lofted bed with a lazy but practiced web—costume and all. His phone is already out and blaring his favorite Spotify playlist, <em>Chill Lo-Fi Beats to Kick Ass and Smoke Weed To,</em> as loud as his half-busted speaker will allow.</p><p>Patrol tonight ate him alive. In many ways literally: the mosquitoes, the heel of The Green Goblin’s <em>giant</em> boot, and the fucking slug by the docks. He had to…the slime…he doesn’t want to think about it. In the worst ways patrol ate him alive figuratively: missed calls from Aunt May, New York’s Finest being on the other side of a web too much for Peter to trust turning them back in and, of course, webbing a would-be-rapist by the forehead to the exact spot Ben died over ten years ago.  </p><p>For the sake of his own sanity and that of his racing fucking heart, he had ended patrol <em>promptly</em> at 4:20 AM. Which is Peter’s running joke with, well, just himself. If he doesn’t smoke at the end of hard patrols, he would absolutely be climbing the walls of his dinky studio apartment using only the tips of his fingernails.</p><p>“Now <em>tomorrow-Peter </em>can worry about all of…that,” he mutters to himself, frantically searching his disheveled sheets with trembling fingers for—there! A lighter! This one proudly proclaims, “Flame On!” in a fiery font that glints in the dim light. When he loses a lighter and feels like being a dick, Peter calls Johnny Storm himself to light his joints. The Human Torch admitted it was funny the first time while Peter asserts it’s been funny <em>every time</em>.</p><p>Johnny has a hot date tonight and, although Peter is not above ruining Johnny’s chances at getting laid, he needs to refresh his bit. Rolling joints alone is soothing. Grind, dump, roll, lick. Repetitive. Relieving. No thinking required. By the time he has the joint completed his jaw has unclenched. The mess of bunched-up muscles next to his ears have returned back to appropriate shoulder height. He’s humming. Leaning back onto his too-flat drool-covered pillows, Peter takes a lengthy drag.  </p><p>He missed going to a protest today to watch over said protest as Spiderman. To make sure the protesters would be safe. Ben’s words of <em>great responsibility</em> have never stopped ringing in his ears. Which is why, after he stopped being surprised at the levels of corruption in the NYPD years ago, he stopped leaving “criminals” to them. Peter has seen what lack of resources and desperation has done to people, to communities. Thinks of all the times he’d stolen food and supplies from his shitty kitchen job because all of his shitty pay had gone to his shitty apartment. Thinks about how lucky he is to have gotten away with it. To have people willing to look the other way for him.</p><p>There’s a well of guilt inside of Peter thinking back on how he’d mock criminals after tying them up for the cops. Saying some of the most privileged shit because he didn’t know that Spiderman wasn’t doing good. Teenage Spiderman was idealistic and naïve. After the rush of a fight, once balaclavas have been shed and dark alleys illuminated, these people just look <em>exhausted.</em> Much like Peter does when he takes off his mask in front of his dingey bathroom mirror. What good is he doing if the people he’s catching are the ones who need help?</p><p>Police officers, angered that a vigilante is catching criminals better than them, treat Spiderman’s perps worse. More violence. More glee at the prospect of violence. The realization that Spiderman had been contributing directly and quickly to the prison-industrial complex hit Peter hard. He’d spent many all-nighters reading twitter threads from different people with the same message, “my experience with police as someone Spiderman caught.”</p><p>It was jarring. People of color taken in for petty theft or vandalism being held for days. While Peter’s bigger busts, the kingpins, are buddy-buddy with the cops and ultimately let go. What good are police if they’re contributing to a system criminalizing poor black and brown people for existing?</p><p>His anger at the realization was hot. Peter knew Spiderman couldn’t be part of this. What he decided to do next put him on every single NYPD cop’s shit list that he wasn’t already on: he decided to help the “criminals.” He’d still patrol but instead of webbing up people for easy arrest, Peter would web them up (comfortably) and talk with them. See if they were willing to accept help in any form. Peter’s still working on it, but he’s been excited to see how much healthier communities grew through resources he was able to provide. He’s also been doing some digging into corrupt cops. Working with Wade to find ways to hold them accountable that don’t include death.</p><p>Lately, personally, Peter has felt physically stuck but mentally unmoored. Stuck burning food for people who can afford to be served as Peter Parker. Disrupting the system and helping communities get resources as Spiderman. Both jobs are thankless and demanding. Both take heavy tolls. Neither can cross paths. When Peter is alone, he prefers to be no one. He spirals too much when he tries to reconcile Peter and Spiderman. He can’t afford to be Spiderman without Peter Parker. And under the stress of living one unexpected bill away from financial ruin, Peter wonders what good he could offer as himself. Before he’s able to fully slide down his ritualistic thought spiral, he hears his window swing open.</p><p>Wade usually announces himself when he comes to visit. Sometimes there’s blood and gore. Other times, there are knives jingling to unlock his bedroom window. It is never <em>ever</em> a simple, friendly text message. Peter would even settle for a <em>“hey petey, ddy dp is on his way over c ur sweet a$$ soon xoxo.”</em> No…Peter absolutely <em>means</em> announcing because Wade is loud, boisterous and really into cult classics lately. Peter is grateful Wade at least remembered their “No More Broken Windows!” rule this time around.</p><p>“Kill everyone now!” Wade positively skips inside from Peter’s fire escape, gently kicking the window closed. There’s an easy slope to his shoulders and less tension coiled in his jaw than usual. Peter catalogs this absently through a cloud of smoke. “Condone first degree murder!” Wade’s steps are light and careful to avoid the scattered debris Peter will absolutely clean up tomorrow! Wade opens the fridge with a flourish, sending more cheap letter magnets to the floor joining a growing pile. Unfortunate sacrifices in their legendary Ultimate Fridge FuckWord War.</p><p>“Advocate cannibalism!” He carefully peels off his mask then shoves way too much lunchmeat into his mouth to continue talking. So, Peter, throat scratchy, picks up seamlessly from where Wade left off.</p><p>“Eat shit! Filth is my politics! Filth is my life!”</p><p>Wade gulps loudly, surprised then sheepish about his surprise. As if he’s worried that his doubt of Peter’s pop-culture knowledge would traumatically endanger their friendship. Through the slow haze of his lazy thoughts, Peter finds this sentiment cute.</p><p>“Did <em>not</em> think you’d get that one, Petes.”</p><p>Peter leans back on his elbows, studying Wade through squinted eyes from his perch above. The tight, frantic feeling in his chest has slowed to a steady hum. In fact, his muscles feel looser as if maybe he’s a snake freed from his old skin. Exhaling sweet smoke, Peter mimes jerking himself off. “What else do you think I jerk my chicken to?”</p><p>Somehow, Wade’s brow rises even higher. He leans his hip against the counter, a proud smirk on his face. “Is Itsy-Bitsy flying sky-high right now?” There’s a giddiness to his tone that reminds Peter that, unlike him, Wade probably did not puke Aunt May’s baked mac and cheese all over his high school crush’s carpet the first time he got drunk.</p><p>Peter exhales perfect smoke rings. To re-assert his hard-earned adulthood. He knows he still looks young as fuck but jeez, Wade has smoked with him hundreds of times! For spite, Peter digs into the box he keeps next to his bed and flicks a laminated card at Wade’s eye.</p><p>Wade chuckles as he pins Peter’s medical card to the fridge like a proud parent. “Ah yes, a little bit of a <em>natural healing</em> to cure your seasonal vapours.”</p><p>Peter swoons and mimes fainting but instead of falling down, he falls up to the ceiling. “You’ve caught me! I’m having a love affair with Mary Jane!”</p><p>At this Wade laughs heartily, flopping down on his ass in the middle of the kitchen to quickly untie and remove his combat boots. “You do remember ending that about hmm,” Wade pretends to think, index finger to his chin. “—about five years ago?” Wade is still smirking with his whole face.</p><p>“You just don’t understand our love.” Peter huffs, digging out another paper to deftly roll. His rolling tray is a Spiderman party plate that surprisingly gets the job done. “We’re meant to be” is what he tries to say while sealing his joint but what comes out is “W’er mnent tew pee.”</p><p>Wade’s eyes linger on Peter. It’s quick. Too quick for People Who Aren’t Spiderman. But, seeing as Peter <em>just so happens</em> to be Spiderman, he catalogues the eyes on his mouth for later.</p><p>“Petey-Pie, you gorgeous baked Alaska.” Wade swoons onto Peter’s ratty sofa. From an inconceivable pocket over his right pectoral, he snatches out his own pre-rolled joint. From within a Paw Patrol backpack (cop dog scrawled over with ACAB) Wade pulls out a fucking <em>blowtorch</em>. To…light his joint. Peter jumps, rolls his eyes then quickly lies down to rest the headache he just gave himself from rolling his eyes.</p><p>Wade speaks through a mouthful of smoke, “Beats sparking a J with a gun.” Anticipating Peter’s move before Peter himself can make it, Wade expertly blocks the body pillow thrown at him. Wade sticks out his tongue while exhaling smoke. “I didn’t buy you that sexy body pillow of <em>moi</em> just for you to throw it back! If I wanted you to watch me fuck a pillow I’d have invited you over to my place tonight.” Wade waves his hand dismissively through sweet smoke.</p><p>“Fine, fine.” Peter concedes, wisely choosing not to linger on thoughts of Wade and fucking. That Way Lies Madness. “I’ll take your word for it. Now please pass it over here. I know you have the good shit.” Peter sticks out his arms, pointing grabby hands in Wade’s direction.</p><p>“Golden Goat beebee.” Wade sings, “figured you could use a little pick-me-up.” He hands Peter the joint between carefully pinched fingers. Steady. After he lets go, he doesn’t move away, just lounges on the foot of the bed with his legs kicked up. Just, looking at Peter warmly. Okay he’s also a little smug. And, now that Peter looks closer getting, <em>hella</em> dirt on his comforter. What the fuck. Despite the gratefulness warming Peter’s guts, he’s still a little petulant that Wade can read him so well.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Wade. I had a great night.” Peter unceremoniously shoves Wade’s legs off the bed, leaving a warning palm on his thigh.</p><p>“Pffft your <em>I Have A Tragically Dead Father-Figure Whose Death I Blame On Myself Every Day </em>face is showing.”   </p><p>“Since when have you <em>named</em> my faces?”</p><p>“Since you’ve had a face, baby-cakes!”</p><p>“Fuck. Fine, Wade. You got me. It’s been a rough fucking night.” Peter throws out his arms and falls backwards on the bed, jostling both of them. The only window in Peter’s apartment that doesn’t face the apartment building next door is on the wall his bed is shoved against. Peter can see: a billboard for magnum condoms and a few stragglers smoking at the bar across the street. Neon light from said bar are casting his room in striking blues and pinks.</p><p>Already, Peter is mourning the loss of tonight. He finds he does this often when hanging out with Wade but has to go to work the next day. Like, everything he works his ass off to have, he doesn’t even have time to enjoy. He takes another hit and locks eyes with Wade.</p><p>“What am I thinking right now, Professor X?” Peter asks.</p><p>“Roleplay! Oh baby, you spoil me!” The words are teasing but Wade’s inflection is oozing sincerity. “If I’m the Prof, you have to be Magneto. Their love is so fuckin’ tragic. Please do not look at me when I cry!” Wade buries his face in the crook of his elbow, miming already tearing up.</p><p>Peter sits up, shoves Wade over and plants himself in Wade’s lap. “No, you dick. What. Am. I. Thinking?”</p><p>Despite the playfully pondering look on his face as he tries to “read Peter’s mind,” Wade carefully brings his hands to Peter’s hips. The slide of leather across his thin spandex suit makes Peter shiver. Wade then wraps his hand around the span of Peter’s waist, securing him solidly</p><p>“You’re thinking…we should watch another Kristen Stewart movie. Wait…you’re thinking we should watch Twilight: Breaking Dawn parts 1 AND 2. Because you wanna see that weird CGI baby, baby.”</p><p>Wade wiggles his brow. His hands have inched their way to the minute gap between his spandex uniform top and bottoms. Peter takes a few slow blinks before leaning in. The hands around him tighten. Just before their lips touch, Peter blows a cloud of smoke into Wade’s parted lips.</p><p>“Well fuck me, you read my mind.” Peter says brightly before shooting up to plug his laptop into the HDMI cord extending from his (tiny) tv. Wade doesn’t seem put out or even remotely angry. If anything, he looks positively gleeful to spend the next few hours shoved next to Peter on his absurdly small and lumpy couch watching Kristen Stewart unconvincingly pretend to be straight.</p><p>For most of the movie they make comments between taking hits. Wade asks if Peter is team Jacob or team Edward. To which Peter responds by saying he’s socially team Edward but fiscally team Jacob. Peter asks Wade if he’d rather be a Vampire or a Werewolf. To which Wade responds by saying his dick would probably be bigger if he picked Werewolf.  The light outside fades as Bella and Edward break their marital bed. Peter relaxes with his right side fully settled onto Wade. After the infamous appearance of Renesmee, the CGI baby, Wade and Peter are leaning closer together.</p><p>To start, it’s not weird. They do this sometimes. Kiss. Make-out. Specifically, when they smoke. They both just get…touchy when they’re high. They’ve known each other for a decade, been friends for half of that <em>and</em> Peter trusts Wade with all of his passcodes! Two years into their friendship, Peter gifted Wade with a key to his apartment. Three years in, it was a key to Aunt May’s place. Peter doesn’t trust <em>himself</em> as much as he trusts Wade. It just makes <em>sense</em> to huddle close. Who better to know what Peter likes than the person closest to him? It’s not like dating has gotten any easier over the years for either of them.</p><p>Sometimes, Peter worries he doesn’t exist. That Spiderman, in all of his folk-hero lore, fully eclipses the person under the mask. When he started getting closer to Wade, when Wade discovered his identity in a classic case of Wrong-Alley-Wrong Time, when Wade wiggled his way into <em>Peter’s</em> life, Peter felt desired. Worthwhile. Just for things like, his bad-good taste in movies or how he gets stoned in like two hits.</p><p>The kissing has been going on for a couple of months. They don’t talk about it sober. It always stays over the clothes and never escalates past first base. Peter doesn’t often dwell on how fucking easy it is to melt into Wade because Peter likes it, maybe a little too much. He feels…irresponsible. It’s no good getting attached when it’s Spiderman Wade wants to fuck.</p><p>Not that Wade has ever explicitly <em>said </em>that but like come on. There’s no way Wade wants to stick his tongue down Peter Parker’s throat over Spiderman’s. Not after all of Deadpool’s viscerally specific interest in Spiderman’s throat and arms and ass. But it’s difficult to believe his best friend could be so shallow when Wade is so fucking <em>earnest</em> all the time. Peter admires this about Wade, his ability to stand so true in all of his emotions. Something even still Peter has a hard time experiencing, let alone sharing.  </p><p>He honestly doesn’t even really know how he feels most of the time. Usually he’s floating between furious, burnt-out and <em>bone weary</em>. With Wade, some of that weariness and anger fades. Peter thinks maybe he associates the man <em>too</em> closely with weed. That has to be it.</p><p>Wade slips his tongue in Peter’s mouth—stretching languidly as if trying to merge into his body. Large hands wrap around his hips; soft despite their size. In a lot of ways, Peter is in awe at Wade’s ability to be <em>soft</em> in such a harsh world. Especially when Deadpool is forced to be so resilient. Peter imagines finger-shaped bruises. <em>Wishes</em> Wade could leave them behind.  </p><p><em>It’s nice to feel something Good</em>. Peter thinks, leaning right back into Wade’s body. That night, like others before, Wade will sleep on the couch. In the morning he’ll complain about the crick in his neck with a huge smile lighting up his face. Peter will quash every single thought of asking him for more. Because then they’ll be sober. And it’ll be light out. And Peter will have to look into Wade’s crystal-blue eyes while Wade says something like, “I’m only into Spider-Babe. No hard feelings, pal?” All Peter is good for is suffering.  </p><p>Like a kick to the face Peter realizes he has some baggage to work out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I've sat on this egg for months so please share your fav parts!! It gives me Life.</p><p>For Wade's entrance monologue: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wTOWIMJkKpc&amp;ab_channel=DahMerEatsYou</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. On a J-Walk Home from His Shitty Job</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter and Wade hate Capitalism. Johnny assumes. Peter thinks he should change Wade's personalized ringtone.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always:</p><p>Black Lives Matter. Black Trans Lives Matter. Trans Lives Matter. ACAB</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <ol>
<li><strong><span class="u"> On A J-Walk Home from His Shitty Job</span></strong></li>
</ol><p>Sometimes, Wade walks him home from work. Always on the nights Peter is exhausted from prior late-night patrols into long day-job shifts. Wade claims it’s for the free food despite Peter never having any to spare. Peter usually smells like someone tried to barbeque ranch dressing over a house fire, but Wade says he doesn’t mind.</p><p>Every time Peter shuffles into the alley behind his line-cook gig, his stomach swoops at the sight of Wade leaning on the brick, usually smoking. His shoulders swallow the light at his back, making him appear like a shadow. A smokin’ hot shadow. He gives Peter something to look forward to—makes him feel cared for when Peter feels so alienated otherwise. This time, Peter greets Wade with a prune-y outstretched hand.</p><p>“Please tell me you have weed. <em>Please</em>.” Peter says in a rush. He’s tired and keyed up. Weary, crusty and on fucking edge. Their usual line cook didn’t show up, so Peter was forced to work for <em>two</em> people. Quite a few angry customers came back towards the kitchen to share their rude opinions on Peter’s performance. God for fucking bid some Wall Street Jag doesn’t get their bougie $30 burger on their time.</p><p>There’s a huffed laugh from the darkness of Wade’s hood as he passes Peter a beautifully rolled joint in maple syrup flavored paper. Wade’s smile, even shadowed, lights Peter up. Then, with a musical lilt in his gravelly voice, he says, “nothing but the best for you, babe.”</p><p>Wade has the <em>gall</em> to fucking wink at him. If Peter doesn’t get his heart rate under control, he’s sending Wade the medical bill. He cannot afford his rent most of the time, let alone the damage his stupid <em>feelings</em> are starting to do. Peter blows smoke into his face as he passes Wade the joint.</p><p>“Oh, this is <em>good</em>.” Peter relishes in his exhale, tipping his head back to take in the smoggy New York night. The air is wet. Peter’s shoes, ugly black Danskos that used to belong to his aunt, stick to the ground with each step. It smells like weed smoke and fresh piss.</p><p>“The weed or the piss? Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, darlin’”</p><p>Walking backwards, Peter snatches the joint from between Wade’s lips.</p><p>“If I didn’t love the smell of piss, I wouldn’t be living in the piss capital of the world.”</p><p>Peter stretches his arms out to the dirty streets in front of him. A few rats are tittering nearby, and a houseless man is in fact pissing on a wall in the alley they’re walking past.</p><p>“You know what they say,” Wade starts thoughtfully, dropping some cash at the mouth of the alley. “Where there’s a massive wealth disparity there’s bound to be a whole lotta piss-soaked streets.”</p><p>“The road of late-stage capitalism is paved with piss.” Peter raises the joint to Wade and inhales deeply.</p><p>“And blood and shit and cum.” Wade counts on his right hand, head tilted as if trying to remember a fuzzy memory of, presumably, blood, shit and cum.  </p><p>“It’s going to be paved with <em>me</em> if I have more shifts like that.” Peter mumbles. His head feels a little lighter, but it takes more than a few hits for his heart to catch up.</p><p>Wade scoffs, not unkindly, “it’s kinda built on your back. That’s its whole <em>vibe</em>.”</p><p>Peter kicks a crushed La Croix can across the damp sidewalk. The empty <em>clunk clunk clunk</em> fades as the can disappears from view. Before the silence yawns further, Peter says, <em>“my</em> whole <em>vibe</em> is not wasting away just to <em>live</em>.”</p><p>“It sucks shit.” Wade mumbles softly, grabbing the outstretched joint from between Peter’s fingers like fucking Michelangelo painted it. “I’m wasting away and <em>can’t</em> die so my vibe is <em>vibing</em>.” He says this around the joint as if the smoke is comprised of this brief vulnerability—escaping Wade before he straightens up.</p><p>“Wade—”</p><p>He waves a hand. Letting the moment wash over him instead of soaking it in. Wade’s mellowed out a bit over the years. Gotten better at being a duck instead of a sponge. Peter’s proud. “I guess my point is, before I got all Happy Bunny ‘it’s all about me’ is; it’s supposed to wear us out. That’s the design. We gotta be selfish. Wring out all the good we can—take it before it’s given and give it back to whoever else is getting fucked too.”</p><p>When Peter moves to steal the joint back, his fingers brush Wade’s. It’s a jolt of rare skin-to-skin contact. When they kiss, Wade usually keeps his costume, gloves and all, on. Now, without them? His hands are soft.  </p><p>Peter is stoned enough now for his senses to warm. For his heart to pull up from nosedive. Wade’s hand lingers. It feels almost too easy to stay there. But, seeing as there is a Super Lit Joint in Peters hand and also Peter is an emotional coward, it would be too risky for all parties involved. Especially the scraps of pride Peter has left. He doesn’t think he can handle a rejection so soon after the shift from hell.</p><p>They continue walking. Peter wraps his lips back around the makeshift filter, feeling Wade’s gaze heavily. As the wind whips behind them, Peter feels a hand on his back guiding him along. He breathes out. They walk through the exhaled cloud of smoke together as if walking through otherworldly fog. Peter likes the taste. It’s fruity and settles him in his skin.</p><p>As usual, they’re walking to Peter’s pocket-sized apartment between Queens and Brooklyn. The trek from Peter’s line-cook job at The Big Apple, a bougie hipster 20-something tourist trap, is long. Neither man minds the silence for a while. Peter counts bodegas. They’re coming up on the sixth one when Peter passes the J back. This one is Peter’s personal favorite to stop in for a cheap pre-work dinner. He’s picked up some Arabic from the owner too.</p><p>Wade sticks his tongue out. The cherry of the joint sizzles as it’s snuffed out by Wade’s spit and the thick of his tongue. Peter laughs despite himself. Wade, that fucking asshole, knows that trick gets him every time.</p><p>Wade then takes a hard right into the bodega, patting the fluffy orange cat lounging on piles of water bottles as he leads Peter to the grill. Peter follows. Still tired but a little warmer in the face at Wade remembering his favorite spot.</p><p>The guys behind the grill, a father/son duo, give Peter the appropriate amount of shit for showing up twice in one day. Peter waves them off good-naturedly, flushing at the friendly attention. Wade orders for them both. Kabir starts talking with Wade about community college classes while his father Abdul fries eggs in extra oil.</p><p>The street outside is mostly lit by the bodega’s fluorescents; catching the night owls wandering in its white-blue stare. At this hour, it’s a mix of harried women in puffy jackets walking miniature dogs and loud drunks not quite ready to go to bed.</p><p>Its pleasant, people watching. Letting the low tones of Wade and Kabir fade into shuffle of foot-traffic and passing voices. Peter appreciates moments when he’s able to feel like a whole person rather than just wearing the skin of one. Spiderman carries so much weight on his shoulders. It makes him feel guilty to admit breathing without it is a huge relief.</p><p>Wade must have made an outrageous joke because Kabir is groaning with a melodramatic hand over his eyes. Turning to Peter he says, “what the hell do you see in this guy?” Wade, mock-affronted rallies, “Peter has good taste!”</p><p>Absently, while eyeing the ice-cream sandwiches in the cooler, Peter replies, “good-bad taste.” When Peter turns back to Wade, he has a chipwich in hand. “Can I get this too?”</p><p>Abdul hides a laugh behind Peter’s bag of Late-Night Greasy Delight. Wade places his right hand delicately over his heart, “anything for you, darlin’.”</p><p>After paying, they take their spoils five floors up. It’s all deposited in a heap on Peter’s already crowded coffee table. Grease sinks through the paper bags onto junk mail and a pile of empty lighters.</p><p>Just when Peter gets to the comfortable spot on his couch between lumps, his phone vibrates with three separate text messages.</p><p>
  <em>Gwen (8:57 PM): You want to come to this dumb conference w/ me?? My gf is out of town :,( I’ll buy u oui’d if you do *crying emoji*</em>
</p><p>
  <em>MJ (9:43 PM): u talk 2 him yet, dummy???</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (10:15 PM): PLZ SMOKE ME OUT. REED IS TRYING TO ORGANIZE A “FAMILY MOVIE NITE”</em>
</p><p>It vibrates again in his hand.</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (11:02 PM) PETER I WILL OWE U BIG TIME</em>
</p><p>Peter, floating on a beautiful high, only has the attention span to attend to one of these senders. Of the two, Peter would rather deal with a stoned Johnny Storm owing him a favor than a sappy Gwen and a nosy MJ. He’ll just tell them he was too stoned; they’d get it.</p><p>“Hey Wade,” Peter lightly kicks him as he seems to be trying to fit a whole bagel in his mouth.</p><p>“<em>Mrph!</em>” Wade responds with bulging cheeks.</p><p>“You cool if Johnny joins? Reed is trying movie nights again.”</p><p>With a loud gulp, Wade swallows his late-night breakfast.</p><p>“Only if he lights all of our joints for us.”</p><p>Peter begins typing out his reply to Johnny as he says, “duh” to Wade.</p><p>
  <em>Peter (11:47 PM): Fine, Storm. U kno the drill. Also Wade is here.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (11:48 PM): Ugh fine I’ll be ur lighter. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (11:49 PM): kinda knew it would be a package deal when I texted, Pete. Tell that fckr it’s not my fault if his fingers get a lil burnt *flame emoji* C u soon. </em>
</p><p>Peter furrows his brow. What did Johnny mean by that? It’s not like Peter is <em>always</em> with Wade. They just hang out a few nights per week. And sometimes in the morning or afternoon or both, depending on their schedules. And, okay definitely every weekend…Peter shakes his head and works on filling his grinder.</p><p>“What campy atrocity are we subjecting Johnny to tonight?” Wade says between double-stuffed Oreos.</p><p>Peter’s laugh bubbles out of him, “Desperate Living. <em>Please</em>.”</p><p>Puffing up his chest, Wade wails, “Tell your mother I hate her!”</p><p>“Wonder when Johnny’ll catch on that we’re having our own blazed movie night whenever he’s escaping Reed’s.”</p><p>Wade snorts, waving his hand, “our weed and company are <em>much</em> better. Anyway, we already got him to admit he’d fuck young John Waters.”</p><p>It’s only a half-hour after Johnny arrives that he covertly texts Peter.</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:47 AM): Dude if y’all were fucking you def did not have to invite me over *eyeball emoji* *water droplet emoji*</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter (12:48 AM): dude what?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter (12:48 AM): he just met me after work and we smoked</em>
</p><p>While Queen Carlotta is flirting with her fashy henchmen on screen, Wade is quoting nearly every word with some sort of snack in his mouth. His arm is slung over Peter’s shoulder loosely. Johnny is sitting on the floor, fingers rapidly moving across the screen of his phone.</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:50 AM): B R O</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:50 AM): I kknow ur f*cking</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:50 AM): And I’m happy for u honestly!!! He’s a weird fuck but you’re like so good around him. Plus he has good bud</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:51 AM): but yea…I can feel Vibes™ </em>
</p><p><em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:51 AM): and unless they’re </em>my vibes <em>then, I’m vibe-phobic</em></p><p>Wade either doesn’t notice the two men with him frantically texting or doesn’t care so Peter doesn’t feel bad about tuning out for now. Johnny feels “<em>vibes</em>”? Peter and Wade are Best Friends with Stoned Benefits. No vibes there!! Even if Peter <em>were</em> to feel these vibes like, Wade probably doesn’t. Or he does and just feels bad for Peter. Yeah. Thanks, Johnny for reminding him.</p><p>
  <em>Peter (12:52 AM): the vibes of him only being into me when I’m high?</em>
</p><p>Peter’s high is fading into a disgruntled sleepiness. Does Johnny not understand simple math? Peter is a washed-up hero disenchanted by even <em>being</em> a hero by night. He hustles to make it up to communities affected by his past reckless hero-ing. And the rest of the time he’s a washed-up grad student turned line-cook. Smoking weed at the end of long days wondering how long he can keep up. Why would <em>anyone</em> waste their time with him romantically? Even <em>Peter</em> doesn’t like wasting time with himself.</p><p>Johnny actually has the gall to turn around and glare at Peter before turning back to his phone.</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:53 AM): you need to work on that ‘self loathing’ shit</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:53 AM): tht motherfucker is head over dick 4 u</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:53 AM): exhibit A:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:53 AM): UR RINGTONE COULD BE ANYTHING</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:54 AM): BUT IT’S CHARLI XCX’S 100 GECS VERSE</em>
</p><p>
  <em>*flame emoji* *smoke emoji* *clown emoji* (12:54 AM): face it. Ur boys got his own ringtone</em>
</p><p>Peter stops answering Johnny at this point—emotional quota reached. Content to lean on Wade’s shoulder until the movie ends.</p><p>It’s when they’re saying lazy goodbyes to a yawning Johnny that Peter realizes he had been asleep for the last twenty minutes. In that time, <em>Desperate Living</em> had ended, Wade placed Peter’s warmest blanket on him and rolled a <em>beautiful</em> blunt waiting patiently for him on his rickety coffee table. Wade has turned on Twilight: New Moon.</p><p>“Can I smoke that?” Peter asks blearily, reaching a tentative hand out towards the blunt in question.</p><p>Wade hums. “I don’t know, can you?” This gives Peter all the reason he needs to shove Wade with his foot, use his emergency web shooters to grab the lighter from Wade’s hand and reach for the blunt. In one fluid motion, Peter has all he needs to flick the lighter and take a deep breath. Peter can feel Wade’s laughter shaking his legs and nearly chokes on the smoke he’s holding.</p><p>“Asshole.” Peter says affectionately. In response, Wade tugs at his ankle and pulls him closer. The TV is casting an ethereal glow over them, outlining the hood around Wade’s face like a dark halo. Smoke floats in and out of Peter’s eyeline. Softening Wade’s features. Peter feels like he’s dreaming.</p><p>Wade leans down slowly, broadcasting his movements as not to startle Peter. Despite expecting it, the kiss makes Peter’s lips tingle. Wade cups Peters face delicately with a gloveless hand. Peter tilts his head back, leaning into the caress. With a pleased hum, Wade leans down again. His lips are plump and soft. Peter would <em>love</em> to sleep on them. Wade drags his other hand down Peter’s body to grip his hip. Not forcefully but hard enough to earn a gasp from Peter. The sturdy weight of Wade’s body, the rhythmic way he moves his mouth over Peter’s and the way they’re both already panting into each other’s mouths is almost too much.</p><p>Peter feels floaty, tired and unbearably horny. Wade is mumbling into his neck, something that sounds like, “want this, want you.” Shivering, Peter runs his nails down Wade’s back, hard enough to feel sharp through his shirt. Wade groans, loud and tortured. Peter tilts his hips up and, despite the hormones pulsing through him saying ‘We Wanna Fuck,’ he yawns.  Suddenly, where there was once a hulking, horny Wade Wilson, there is now air. He’s pulled back with a wry smile.  </p><p>“Time to tuck sleepy boys into bed.”</p><p>Peter sticks his tongue out petulantly. Wade’s eyes briefly darken.</p><p>“Come on, up” he says brightly, “before I change my mind.”</p><p>Peter is manhandled into his lofted bed. Wade even tucks him in; a commitment to the bit that Peter can appreciate. It doesn’t take long for him to start drifting off. Wade likes to leave the TV on when he sleeps so the noise soothes Peter to bed.</p><p>That night, he dreams he’s hotboxed his entire apartment while in his Spiderman suit. The thick smoke coalesces into a solid form—morphing into red and black tactical-grade Kevlar. Wade’s suit is obscenely tight and suddenly the walls fade away. He’s in central park surrounded by heroes. He’s at his stupid fucking day-and-most-nights-job, mask-less, shirtless and surrounded by heroes laughing at him. There’s heat, finger-shaped bruises. Then, there’s Wade, shotgunning what seems to be a full fucking J into the mouth of some faceless hero.  </p><p>Peter wakes up suddenly in a drool puddle with <em>painful</em> morning-wood.</p><p>Wade had slept on the couch, as usual. The lumps left a crick in his neck. And, per tradition, Peter throws a shoe at his prone form to wake him up the next morning. Shouting a faux-cheery “don’t forget to lock up before you leave, snookums!” as he walks out the door. Peter is wearing two different shoes.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>, he thinks. So, they haven’t really <em>talked</em> about things. That’s fine! Peter had time. Wade had time. They’d get to it!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This fic has just turned into All The Stuff I like but isn't what a fic is for,,,,</p><p>Pls tell me ur fav parts &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Few Scant Blocks from His Shitty Apartment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter feels vulnerable. Weasel is holding a grudge. A bunch of mercenaries place bets.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It feels so wonderfully strange posting this in parts after I spent so long writing it on my single word doc. This chapter is one of my favs.</p><p>As always:<br/>Black Lives Matter. Black Trans Lives Matter. Trans Lives Matter. ACAB</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <ol>
<li><strong><span class="u"> A Few Scant Blocks from His Shitty Apartment </span></strong></li>
</ol><p>When they walk into <em>Hell House</em> the ruckus and hollering stills. The cloud of tobacco and weed smoke that had mingled together dissipates in the gust of fresh air from outside. As the smog rushes out, Peter and Wade are revealed falling over each other to reach a booth. Weasel immediately groans.</p><p>“Not you fucks again!” Weasel balls up his apron and tosses it dramatically onto the counter. Peter thinks this is unnecessarily showy and says as much. Wade barks a laugh, holding onto Peter for support. The bar is crowded tonight, judging by the many menacing faces laughing at their display of brazen stoned-ness. Josephina flips him off, still apparently angry about Peter beating her at darts last week.   </p><p>The barkeep massages the bridge of his nose, talking directly into the palm of his hand. “You two Freaks and Geeks motherfuckers almost ate me out of house and home. Like, literally last fucking night! Not to mention you kicked Human Mewtwo’s freaky ass at pool.” Weasel sticks out his thumb towards a sullen looking man with bulbus fingers and a misshapen face. “You shits know he hates to lose.”</p><p>Wade doubles over and guffaws. “’Ate you out’ hehe,” he mumbles. “As if.”</p><p>Weasel rolls his eyes. “You also <em>royally</em> fucked up the john. You’re both lucky I don’t have cameras in there anymore!” The barkeep wiggles his eyebrows in Peter’s direction. It’s made all the more unattractive with the way Weasel’s stoic impression doesn’t change.</p><p>Peter should be more skeeved. Maybe call Weasel a pervert for good measure but he just shrugs and hits his vape pen with more <em>oomph</em>. All to see the bulging vein in Weasel’s forehead pulse. Peter has been a regular for two years. No one usually messes with him <em>too </em>much given Wade’s affinity for storing an armory’s worth of weapons in his suit. It took a while for Peter to get <em>any</em> sort of rapport with Weasel but, after one year of cracking jokes to a blank face, Weasel finally turned his mouth up into what one might consider a smile (if they squint).</p><p>Now, Peter is fully taking advantage of Weasel’s grudging softspot. Usually, the only person who can keep up with Peter in depressing quips and being a snarky shit is Wade. Having Weasel around to mess with is like Christmas for Peter’s sense of humor. He has Wade keeled over the bar with hysterical laughter when he blows smoke directly into Weasel’s face. Another hush falls over the room. Weasel’s nose twitches.</p><p>“Alright, bitches.” Weasel says to the room at large holding an unmoved and impassive expression. Peter is so fucking jealous of his poker face. “I’m invoking 4:20 O’Clock.”</p><p>There’s a resounding gasp from the crowd around them. Surprised mercenaries, truckers and other flavors of Will Kill You for Looking at Them Wrong are never a promising sign but Peter stands strong. Bar patrons are mumbling amongst themselves. Some pondering the age of this particular bar rule,</p><p>(“This shit is <em>ancient</em>. Like in action since <em>the Clinton Administration</em>.” Mumbles Johnny Knives).</p><p>And others arguing over the last time said rule was invoked,</p><p>(“Chastity was stoned for a fuckin’ week.” Knuckle Bones raises their glass to where Weasel disappeared).</p><p>Suddenly, Wade stops laughing. He straightens his posture before leaning over the bar again. Seemingly casual but definitely on alert. He looks nervous. This, of all things, is what sets Peter’s Spidey-sense on edge.</p><p>Above the din, Weasel is composed. “The rule is simple. You smoke more than me, you Powder Puff Fucks don’t have to pay your <em>exorbitant</em> tab from last night. You can’t keep up? You pass-out into your Pedialyte? You need a kiss goodnight from your mommy? You gotta kiss the <em>ugliest</em> motherfucker in this bar for my personal entertainment.”</p><p>Peter’s already stoned brain is working overtime to process the meaning behind Weasel’s punishment and immediately regrets coming in here blazed again. Hell hath no fury like a Weasel who’s owed money. Except this fury comes in the form of “asshat who will definitely make Peter kiss his best friend for funsies.” And Peter still has some psychological things he has to work out before he’s ready to do that in front of so many mercenaries.</p><p>Instead of saying something cool like, “You’re on, rat dick!” Or, “Lick my left nut, old man.” What Peter says to Weasel’s retreating back is, “my mommy’s dead.”</p><p>Wade saddles up next to him and wordlessly passes a tissue. Peter doesn’t need it, unless it could suck up embarrassment, but is grateful, nonetheless.</p><p>“Thanks for not making a daddy joke, Wade.”</p><p>“I figured I’d let Weasel have this—” Wade’s covert whisper is interrupted by Weasel, who has just emerged from the back room with a human-sized glass bong and a twisted look in his eye.</p><p>“When you lose, you have to give Daddy Deadpool a kiss.” The barkeep sounds a little maniacal. The other mercenaries cheer. Wade groans, “Even with Human Mewtwo here I’m still the ugliest?” His tone is too complex for Peter to parse in his current green state—sounding equal parts offended, fond and embarrassed. It doesn’t make sense to Peter, but he figures it’ll hit him in the face later, like most things do.</p><p>“Fuck ‘im up, Weas.” Blitz Haze raises his tallboy. The trucker is built like a brick shithouse. Biceps the size of Peter’s head and covered in tattoos. He’s got a whole booth to himself which only accentuates his massive shoulders bulging from his cutoff denim vest. His tee shirt says “My Dick Is Up Here.” His hat says, “My Eyes Are Down Here.” On Peter’s first night at <em>Hell House</em>, he threw up on Blitz’s beloved rig. Blitz is a Scorpio and can hold a grudge. Peter gulps.</p><p>Josephina whacks the jukebox to life, glaring at Peter menacingly as <em>Nobody</em> by Mitski kicks on. “Ugh” Weasel says, “now I’m gonna cry into my bong, Christ.”</p><p>“Um,” Peter looks rapidly between Weasel and the massive bong raising his voice slightly to be heard over a chorus of ‘<em>Nobody Nobody Nooooobody</em>.’ “Who’s weed are we smoking?”</p><p>“Neither of ours, are you fucking kidding me?” Weasel does some maneuvering behind the register, eventually emerging with a tin lunchbox proclaiming, “<em>Hulk Smash!”</em></p><p>“We’re smoking the Hulk’s!”</p><p>The room absolutely <em>erupts</em>.</p><p>Wade is behind Peter, rubbing his shoulders like a wrestling coach and mumbling in his ear, “Just <em>suck it all in.</em>” Then, mumbling quieter to himself, “<em>now is not the time to get horny</em>.” Which serves to wake Peter up a bit because Wade should not be whispering about sucking when they’re both in public. Particularly when they’re both about to be publicly humiliated.</p><p>Being Spiderman allows Peter a higher tolerance than most recreational smokers but Weasel? His blood type is THC. The man straps blunts to his body like Wade straps knives. Peter has seen him eat pure cannibutter once in a panic when his dealer was out of town. <em>Peter</em> had been the one to smoke him out during his night of desperation but that doesn’t seem to matter now.</p><p>Bar patrons are circled around Peter and Weasel like heavily armed ants. The only thing separating the two is a crusty high top containing the weed and a novelty Iron Man lighter.</p><p>“Now,” Weasel begins ceremoniously, “the Ugliest Motherfucker in Question will light the torch.”</p><p>Wade groans again in that <em>put out but not really also why the fuck are you doing this</em> tone of voice he used before. “You’re lucky you have too much shit on me or else I’d <em>Sprang Break</em> this whole place up with my lovely ladies here” Wade feels up his hulking chest where Peter knows he has two pistols stored away.</p><p>Weasel is standing on his bar stool positioned right above the mouthpiece of his (in)human sized bong—eyebrows raised expectantly. The speed that he packed the bowl is truly frightening to Peter. The crowd of mercenaries are cheering; visibly stoked for bloodshed.</p><p>“Fiiine.” Wade says dramatically, reaching into a pocket on his belt. “At least let me use my own. I hate that Iron Dick.” He pulls out a gun that <em>must</em> be made for mercenary children or punk elves because he could easily crush it between two fingers. Using his pinky finger to pull the trigger, a small flame erupts from the end of the lighter.</p><p>The bowl is lit. The inhale Weasel takes seems to also take the breath away from everyone in the bar. Thick smoke climbs the glass until it all disappears. Instead of a simple exhale, Weasel executes a perfect French inhale to a chorus of wolf-whistles.</p><p>“Oui,” he says simply, bowing before passing the (overcompensating) bong over to Peter.</p><p>Suddenly, the gaze of the room is on him. Wade slinks back into the crowd with an enthusiastic thumbs up. Having the attention of so many mercenaries outside of his Spiderman costume makes Peter feel like he’s about to be shoved in a locker.</p><p>Blitz Haze is cracking his knuckles. Across them Peter can clearly make-out tats that say, “KILL PISS.” Josephina is collecting outstretched cash, presumably for the significant number of tallies against Peter she’s writing on the chalkboard behind the bar. Weasel is taunting him with his tongue wiggling between the V of his index and middle fingers.  </p><p>On one late night of smoking with Wade, Peter’s insomnia decided to hang out for a while. Leaving Peter scrolling on Netflix for a documentary while Wade hogged the couch, fast asleep. The nature documentary he watched included a variety of parasites that had caused mammals to lose all senses of fear. Right now, with leather and studs as far as his eyes can see, Peter is <em>positive</em> he doesn’t have one of those. Peter doesn’t even feel this afraid asking his shitty landlord for an extension on rent.</p><p>But he needs to steel himself. A lot is at stake here—Peter’s pride, the last remaining bills in his wallet and the sanctity of this <em>thing</em> he’s got with Wade. He’ll be fucked sideways if a bunch of horny mercenaries get to watch him and Wade make-out before Peter figures out his shit!</p><p>Peter lights the bowl with a clumsy hand but manages to inhale an impressive enough mouthful of smoke to make up for it. The first hit is enough for him to close his eyes and relish. It tastes earthy with hints of tangy lemon. Sativa then. Peter blows smoke rings at Weasel’s frowning face.</p><p>After each of their first hits, they pass the bong back and forth. Peter has to feign the extra effort it would take a non-superpowered Peter to hold such heavy glassware. Given some of the sniggers from the hot goth assassins in the front of the crowd, Peter thinks he’s doing a good job.</p><p>The silence that once permeated their early rounds is now being slowly drowned out. Those still watching, are barely concealing their impressed gazes in Peter’s direction. It pleases him, just a bit, to be able to surprise mercenaries as Just Peter. The obscene number of tallies that were on Weasel’s side begin slowly migrating to Peter.</p><p>“I used to smoke this much as an <em>infant</em>.” Weasel yawns and stretches his arm over Domino’s shoulder. Dom pats his hand delicately then plucks it off. Weasel shrugs lazily. His posture screams, ‘greened out’ but his eyes are still sharp.</p><p>It’s been an hour and the bar is officially hotboxed. Weasel’s eyes are as red as, Apples. Apples can be red, right? Peter ponders. He likes the green ones better. There is not much weed left. Peter frowns at this.</p><p>Weasel is taking another hit with a slouching Dom using him for support as she laughs at something Josephina said. Blitz Haze is making out with a guy in wizard robes. And Wade is face down on the bar. The undivided attention that was once on their faceoff has quickly dissipated once the two competitors illustrated their powerful tolerances.</p><p>“You’re gonna make-out with that shit-stain anyway, aren’t you?” Weasel says through what has to be his three-hundredth exhale. Peter’s brain is fully smoothed-out at this point. Ironed perfectly flat. No wrinkles for miles. Wade is snoring slightly. Peter keeps it cool.</p><p>“What gives you <em>that</em> idea.” He says innocently or at least as innocently as he can while passing over the bong.</p><p>“What you did to the john was not my first clue, princess.” Somehow, even after the inhuman amount of weed he smoked; Weasel manages a perfect deadpan.</p><p>Peter flushes. “It’s not like that—” he starts but Weasel cuts him off.</p><p>“Not like that ugly son-of-a-rotting-avocado is head-over-dick for you?”</p><p>Peter startles out of his prepared Wade-Wants-Spiderman self-hatred spiral.</p><p>“Wait, is this a shovel talk? Really?”</p><p>Weasel points to his face, which is entirely devoid of emotion sans the powerful redness in his eyes. “Does it look like I’m fucking with you?”</p><p>“I honestly can’t tell.”</p><p>“Ugh. Pete. You <em>know</em> I can’t be—” Weasel quickly glances around the bar as if waiting for someone to suddenly admit they’re fully sober and arresting him. “—vulnerable in front of like anyone! It’s physically fucking painful!”</p><p>Peter coughs on his puff.</p><p>“But <em>fine</em>. I’ll do my fucking best because your twinky-ass is the one Wade wants to tap forever.”</p><p>Peter <em>chokes</em> on his exhale.</p><p>“That immortal shit-for-brains-lumpy-dicked-mother-fucker is one of the few people I’d trust with my stupid fucking life.” Weasel looks contemplative as he packs another bowl. Melancholy, even. He points a keif-covered finger at Peter. “Don’t tell that fuck about me sayin’ any of this. If you do, he’s gonna hold it against me long after I die. You break his heart <em>without just cause</em>, I will hire everyone here to kill you.”  </p><p>Peter nods solemnly and salutes for good measure. Blitz is nowhere to be seen now but upon further inspection, it’s readily apparent that he’s sunk onto the sticky floor to crawl under the wizard guy’s robes. Which like… <em>come on</em>. Peter knows the bar is crusty, but he never <em>once</em> considered cum stains as the source. With one final, mighty puff, Weasel clears his throat. The bar collectively groans as if woken up from a too-short nap.</p><p>“I am declaring it a tie. Now everyone get the fuck outta my bar.” He points at the tip jar then at the exit. Everyone betting with Josephina throws their cash onto the bar-top angerly. It seems she had ‘forgotten’ to include a betting option for a tie.</p><p>The wizard guy has pushed back his hood, revealing sweat-slick blond hair on top of a blissed-out expression on his face. Peter sees Blitz slink out from under the table. With a smug smile on his face, the two leave the bar arm in arm.  <em>Jesus</em> Peter thinks. <em>At least me and Wade aren’t that bad.</em> Much like the devil, Wade appears.</p><p>“Knew you could keep up, sweet cheeks.” Wade says through a yawn. He reaches an arm out to steady himself but trips. It’s two hands planted on Peter’s ass that saves him from faceplanting.</p><p>Behind them, Weasel coughs so hard he pukes a little.</p><p>“Go fist each other somewhere else before I get the hose!” Weasel yells at their retreating backs. Wade flips him off without turning around. Peter, stoned to fucking Pluto, wants to die under approximately three comforters.</p><p>“Your place or mine?” Wade asks with a sleepy wink.</p><p>Peter is beyond language. He tries to find a way to express that to Wade without words. Luckily, he seems to pick up on the predicament.</p><p>Wade calls them a taxi home and they pass out on top of Peter’s sheets.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Blitz Haze inspired by Dak Rambo of the Neoscum podcast.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. MJ & Gwen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter gets roasted. MJ knows best. Gwen just wants to talk about the furry at her work conference.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back with some sapphic love. What's better than Peter getting bullied by his bisexual best friends. </p><p>Black Lives Matter. Black Trans Lives Matter. Trans Lives Matter. ACAB.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">3.5 Bake &amp; Brunch w/ MJ and Gwen</span>
  </strong>
</p><p>“I told you I was too stoned to answer!” Peter jostles their brunch tray precariously. Gwen, an angel with near infinite patience, puts it back in order before lightly shoving Peter and staining MJ’s white linen sheets with an errant raspberry.</p><p>“That’s code for, ‘I was fucking Wade.’” MJ adds helpfully before pointedly looking away from the raspberry-wreckage and taking a <em>long</em> sip of her kief-spiked coffee.</p><p>“Wade and I do not <em>fuck</em>.” Peter replies pointing at MJ before turning back to an exasperated Gwen. He can <em>feel</em> MJ’s eyeroll.</p><p>“No, you’re right.” MJ says faux placatingly. “You two just spend every free moment together and make-out when you’re stoned, right?”</p><p>Gwen is looking rapidly between the two with a small frown, “is this what we’re gonna talk about for the next like, two hours? Because I really want to talk about the conference.”</p><p>MJ gulps down the rest of her coffee. After slamming it on their brunch tray, MJ holds up a hand. “I am formally requesting fifteen minutes to shame Peter into admitting his Wade-related feelings. Then we will hear about the weird guys who hit on you at the conference.”</p><p>Gwen frowns harder. “Make it ten minutes of shaming Peter. One of the guys showed up to the mixer in a fur suit.”</p><p>“Fine, fine.” MJ waves her hand as if that is that and rapidly turns on Peter expectantly.</p><p>Peter sighs. Without the presence of cannabis in his system, Peter might be able to duck out of the situation by stuttering out a fond emotion of positive valence. Such as, “Wade is a dear wonderful friend whose continued presence brings me great joy.” Then they’d talk about the furry at the Association for Behavior, Biology and Neuroscience Conference and how much Gwen misses her girlfriend Cassie.</p><p>But while stoned? What Peter says is the truth. He hates trying to put this to words but maybe telling MJ and Gwen how he’s feeling would help make it easier to eventually tell <em>Wade.</em></p><p>“I feel like I just ate my heart whole and it falls out of my butt every time I see him.” </p><p>MJ and Gwen exchange a <em>look</em>. One of their indecipherable red-eyed telepathic glances. The kind they do around blazed Peter <em>constantly</em>.</p><p>“We’ve both been there.” Gwen nods supportively, blonde hair furiously swishing with the movement.</p><p>“Once with each other!” MJ adds brightly, tapping her empty coffee cup with a sharp red nail.</p><p>Peter nearly chokes. Gwen ruffles MJ’s perfect red curls. “It was nice, but we decided we’re better as friends. <em>And</em> I am currently with my ride-or-die.”</p><p>“You’re welcome for introducing you,” MJ sticks out her tongue.</p><p>“How did I miss this!?” Peter says, rapidly glancing between his two best friends.</p><p>MJ steals some of Peter’s French toast and says, “Wade was out of town and you Bella Swan’d with Jacob the minute your Edward was gone.”</p><p>“I went upstate with Johnny!” Peter shoots back.</p><p>Gwen yawns, “exactly.”</p><p>“Okay fuck you both.” Peter says petulantly, sucking on his Sunday Morning Joint while trying to inhale the rest of his coffee in the same breath.</p><p>Their normal Sunday Morning-ish Brunch always starts off with light Peter-shaming. This week’s stings a bit more than usual but Peter knows it’s for his own good. Plus, MJ makes <em>the </em>best food. Like, hash browns and those fancy turkey-apple sausages. And they eat it in her California King bed. This time, after they each finish their decadent wake-and-bake breakfasts, MJ’s face softens a fraction.</p><p>“Look, Peter, just <em>talk to him</em>.”</p><p>Peter grumbles, “now you’re starting to sound like Johnny.”</p><p>Gwen raises her eyebrows, “well, a broken clock is right twice per day.”</p><p>“See! Even the dude you held a torch for agrees!” MJ adds unhelpfully with a mouthful of home-fries.</p><p>“That was like seven years ago.” Peter mumbles, “before I knew what an unbearable shit he is. Also. Awful time for a pun!” Peter flicks MJ’s nose. She wrinkles her face.</p><p>“Wade has done literally everything except propose to you.” MJ elaborates exasperatedly.</p><p>Sheepishly, Peter looks down. “No, he uh, proposed to me at the last Avengers Christmas Party.”</p><p>“Ugh the one where no one is allowed to take pics?” MJ grumbles. Gwen looks triumphant.</p><p>“See!”</p><p>Peter does not, in fact, see. “It was a <em>joke</em>…right?”</p><p>MJ and Gwen stare at him blankly.</p><p>“Anyway, it’s not like I can say anything to him now even if I wanted to.” Peter tries to recover, “he’s probably on a job.” The last bit is mumbled. Wade hasn’t texted Peter about said job but in their years of friendship, Peter knows what a week or two of radio silence means.</p><p>“So, text him.” MJ says easily, reclining further back on her bed.</p><p>“Yeah sure, MJ. I’ll just <em>text</em> my best friend that I’m in love with him while he’s in the butthole of god knows where, possibly in the butthole of god knows who!”</p><p>MJ opens her mouth to refute but Gwen beats her to the punch.</p><p>“No! Peter-shaming is over. He’s a lost cause. Can I <em>please</em> talk about Frank the Furry from the conference now?”</p><p>MJ throws up her hands, “Peter! I will return to shaming you later!” After a beat, she turns fully to Gwen with a wicked grin. “Now tell us <em>fucking everything</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please please please comment ur fav bits. I love feedback because I'm an Aries who loves attention &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Above His Shitty Apartment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter is emotionally constipated. Wade is no better. Tony is an asshole. What else is new?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tony Stark Ruins Everything.</p><p>Black Lives Matter. Black Trans Lives Matter. Trans Lives Matter. ACAB.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <ol>
<li><strong><span class="u">Above His Shitty Apartment</span></strong></li>
</ol><p>The roof of Peter’s building is a public health hazard. A rickety death trap of rusted nails all somehow pointing upwards. It is both perpetually dirty, which Peter can understand, and perpetually wet, which Peter cannot understand. He’s seen sludge and slime up there he’d <em>never </em>seen on the streets. On a dare, Wade once licked the goop and promptly, literally died.</p><p>The first time Peter took Wade up here to smoke he warned him about The Roof Goop while doing his best to balance the man himself <em>and</em> the ridiculous amount of dispensary-grade weed he brought over while climbing the goddamn building. Wade had simply laughed. “I think you mean ‘your landlord is a bastard’</p><p>Grimly and with a significant amount of weight, Peter had responded, “All landlords are bastards.”</p><p>They usually go on the roof when Peter is feeling claustrophobic but is too anxious to actually say it out loud. It happens often because his studio apartment is the size of a closet and nearly all windows face the brick building next door. Usually, it’s Wade who drags them up there. Peter never wants to make anything difficult, especially with Wade who has to deal with so much shit anyway. Wade’s response is usually: “But if you tell me your shit that makes it <em>our shit</em>.” And Peter caves because he’s in love with his best friend even if he doesn’t want to subject his best friend to being in love with him.</p><p>Today, they’re engaged in one of their usual debates.</p><p>“Wade <em>please</em> don’t throw rocks at that cop”</p><p>“I’m trying to knock the bagel out of his hands. This takes precision!”</p><p>“For the <em>millionth time</em>, if you hit him and he looks up? We are both fucked seven days to Sunday.”</p><p>Wade is laughing but he puts his arms up in mock surrender. “Alright baby boy. But <em>please</em> know the minute I’m off this roof I’m slashing his tires.”</p><p>Peter simply nods, “this, I encourage.”  </p><p>Wade finds a spot to sit on the edge of the roof blessedly sans slime. He kicks his feet while puffing out clouds of cotton candy scented vape smoke. It’s cold today. Cold enough that Wade took one look at Peter’s thin denim jacket and promptly wrapped Peter in his parka. It doesn’t fully make up for him being gone the last few weeks, but the warmth is helping Peter forget.</p><p>They each smoke in silence. Peter brought up a joint he’d been saving for special occasions. Best to ease his nerves as soon as possible. The wind blows the smoke back into his face in a way that’s not altogether unpleasant. Wade hums thoughtfully.</p><p>“You bring me up here to talk about what’s been eating you?”</p><p>Peter nearly bites his tongue in half on how quickly he almost says, “yeah, not you.” He shakes himself out of it. “You’ve been gone for like three weeks!” Peter doesn’t mean to sound petulant and defensive, but he wasn’t even given a chance to finish his joint!</p><p>Wade’s genuine laugh echoes between buildings. “Did you miss me, baby?”</p><p>Peter coughs. Yes, there have been quite a few greened-out evenings on his lumpy couch practicing what he’s going to confess to Wade. All of which were followed immediately by greasy takeout. On one such evening, Peter called Gwen to discuss whether or not Wade would be more into him if he let it slip about going commando in his suit. Gwen, bless her honesty, said Wade definitely already knew that.</p><p>Instead of revealing that, Peter flushes and says, “That’s, beside the point!” Wade’s laugh rings out again suddenly, as if punched out of him. As if he can’t quite believe it.</p><p>“Why did me being gone for three weeks upset you?” Wade’s voice is gentle, hesitant. He’s looking away from Peter as he says this, so the wind is left to carry the question.</p><p>“It was a long time.” Peter says quickly, before his planned confession can trip past his teeth.</p><p>“I disappear from time to time, but I always come back.” Wade says this carelessly, as if he genuinely believes Peter doesn’t give a shit about where he is when they’re not together. Which, what the fuck. Wade knows Peter gives a shit. Why else would he keep trying to put a covert tracker on Wade, despite Wade finding them every single time, if he <em>didn’t care</em>? Wade can be just as stubborn as Peter is when it comes to asking for help. They are two emotionally constipated peas in a Kevlar pod.</p><p>“Because,” Peter starts, puffing from his joint with one hand tangled in his hair. Time feels like it’s moving slower and his eyelids are heavier. Both sure signs that he’s stoned. If Peter blurts out anything embarrassing, he cannot be held liable.  </p><p>“You’re my best friend and I like to know you’re safe?” He says it like a question because now, when the bravado of Spiderman is tucked away in his nightstand, he’s just Peter. Wade turns to face him, his expression softening slightly.</p><p>Peter’s stupid stoned mouth wants to say more. Like, “you have five pairs of assless-chaps in your closet, you like to roll up a slice of pizza, stuff it with garlic and call it an ‘Italian Taco,’ and, worst of all, you make me want to be a better person. I love you. And stuff.”   </p><p>Before Peter has the chance to push out the words, he smells jet-fuel.</p><p>“’figured I’d find you here.” Comes a mumbled electronic voice.</p><p>Peter jumps, Spidey-sense going hay-wire at Tony’s (obtrusive) presence. Once the man appears, he occupies the airspace like a giant fart. A tiny compartment opens from Iron Man’s finger, making electronic zipping noises as it turns into a fan to blow the weed smoke away from him. Peter rolls his eyes.  </p><p>“Yes. You found me on the roof of my own building. What do you want?” Peter tenses slightly. He tries not to make his weariness obvious but from the corner of his eye, he can see Wade subtly shifting position in response—coiling up and leaning ever-so-slightly closer to Peter.</p><p>Tony’s faceplate slides back to reveal his raised brows. The amount of smug judgement on the man’s face far exceeds the amount of obscenely expensive skincare products seeped into his pores.</p><p>“Well, Tweedledee,” he gestures his right hand vaguely in Peter’s direction. “I also knew I’d find Tweedledumb with you.” Tony does the same gesture with his left hand towards Wade, with significantly more ill-concealed contempt and purposeful middle-finger pointing.</p><p>Peter rolls his eyes harder this time. </p><p>Wade slouches slightly, making himself look more at ease despite the tension Peter knows is curled up in his muscles. The amount of control Wade is able to have over even the most minute movements of his body is admirable. It’s a mix of his surprising dexterity and uncharmingly-charming charisma that places an extremely inaccurate estimation of his character in everyone else’s mind.</p><p>Peter remembers a particularly gnarly undercover case they had both worked on the year prior at a garishly neon strip club. Munching on pretty decent boneless wings in booty shorts, Peter watched as Wade shot the shit above the table with their guy but held a knife with a surgically still hand underneath.</p><p>Now, with Tony glowering at Wade, Peter wants to swoop in to help; despite Wade’s streak of playful brutality.</p><p>“Dated reference, Iron Daddy.” Wade chuckles a dry raspy laugh. “Well, now that you found me in Spiderman’s wet white web, how can I Not Help?”</p><p>“Ugh.” Tony mumbles, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Peter takes another hit. <em>Fuck </em>it he thinks. If he can’t save Wade from the encounter, he may as well get zooted. Tony’s presence is always more tolerable when Peter is medicated. Tony points at him accusingly. “Guess I should have said Bill and Ted.”</p><p>“I think we’re more like Troy and Gabriella.” Wade says dreamily, girlishly kicking his boots up into the air.</p><p>Peter chokes on his next puff, hoping that Tony can’t read any of the truth on his face. Because not even <em>Wade</em> knows the truth yet because Tony is currently <em>ruining it</em>.</p><p>“More like Connie and Raymond.” Peter says absently, ashing his J into a pile of Roof Goop. The green sludge sizzles suspiciously.</p><p>“When our filth fades, we’ll be Jacob and Renessme.” Wade has now brought his legs up on the ledge of the roof—lounging as if the gooey barrier between him and a painful fall is a fancy chaise lounge.</p><p>“Oh my god.” Tony is rubbing his temples this time. “I’m remembering why I don’t talk to either of you.”</p><p>Peter snorts, “because we actually help out people who need it?”</p><p>“Because we’re not billionaires who made disgusting amounts of money from imperialism and war?”</p><p>Tony, ever the example of being able to dish but being unable to take, spits with venom, “oh and shooting cops is morally better.”</p><p>Wade sits up abruptly, “the last three cops I have <em>allegedly</em> un-alived were involved in an underaged sex trafficking ring. Should I be checking <em>your </em>name on certain flight logs?”</p><p>Tony sighs, “look, I’m sorry for getting defensive. Yes, my father and myself for a time, made money from weapons manufacturing. I’m doing my very fucking best to <em>never</em> go back there. And to right my wrongs. I’m not perfect.” Tony briefly pauses. “Actually, I’m pretty fucked up. I’m sure you both can understand that.”  There’s a beat then Tony speaks again. “Also <em>ew</em>. No.”</p><p>Tony’s dislike of Wade is historic. Everyone in the hero community knows. Hell, the entire <em>villain </em>community knows. So, it’s surprising that, despite past precedent, Tony is being…civil? Accountable? It’s astounding. Peter wishes he had some fucking popcorn.</p><p>“Okay,” Wade concedes. “Then, what do you want with lil’ ol’ <em>moi</em>?”</p><p>“I try my very best not to want you.” Tony mumbles.</p><p>“Most people do.” Wade assures with a wink.</p><p>Head tilted, Peter studies the scene with squinted red eyes. Wade is flirting with Tony and Peter kind of wants to barf. But so, apparently, does Tony. So, Wade must <em>want</em> Tony to barf. Peter could fuck with that.</p><p>“I need you to do some ‘consulting work.’” Tony says doggedly, nervously scratching at his patchy five o’clock shadow.</p><p>“Oh ho hoo!” Wade chirps brightly. “Did Papa Furioso tell you to keep your hands off?”</p><p>At this, Tony looks like he got caught with his blasters in the Extremely Classified cookie jar.</p><p>“I don’t know <em>what</em> you’re talking about.” Tony turns up his nose in that way that all rich people seem to know. “This is <em>my</em> mission. Which, I created from intel <em>I</em> gathered.”</p><p>Wade is nodding along as if he completely understands. Then says, “and I’m sure <em>I</em> was your number one choice there, eh coach?”</p><p>Tony’s shoulders sag but he pointedly turns off his AI to have an offline conversation. Peter doesn’t think his eyebrows can go any further up his forehead. Briefly concerned he’s hallucinating or dreaming; Peter pinches his hand with feeling.</p><p>“I am running on limited resources here. Fury took everything off of SHIELD’s servers and put it on <em>paper</em>.” Tony mimes throwing up.</p><p>“I don’t trust them with this.” He finishes with a dark look.</p><p>Wade is sharpening a knife he pulled from his boot. Pointing it at Tony he says, “yet, you trust <em>me</em>?” His voice is skeptical. Peter can also sense the sharp bite of annoyance, as if Tony is a bloody bullet in his side and they’re rushing to get to <em>Tequilas</em> for tacos before they close.</p><p>Tony sighs again, as if he’s the one put out. “I trust Web-head. Even if he won’t return my calls at the moment.” There’s a pointed silence. Peter blows smoke rings.</p><p>“Yeah,” Wade says, dexterously juggling his knife between his hands. “he’s got good taste.”</p><p>“Eh,” Tony corrects. “Good-bad taste.”</p><p>“He resents that implication.” Peter adds, finally cutting in. “Spiderman has <em>impeccable</em> taste.” Peter tries to glare but if Tony’s amused expression is anything to go by, he probably just looks mega stoned.</p><p>“Meet me at the New Tower.” Tony says simply then zooms away without saying goodbye. Sanctimonious asshole.</p><p>“I didn’t agree to <em>shit</em>!” Wade shouts, throwing his boot-blade expertly. But it’s too late. Tony disappears from view and a pigeon with a knife in its back falls from the sky. Wade quickly pulls himself into standing position and <em>shakes</em> the Roof Goop off of himself like a two-legged dog. Peter smiles despite his best intentions not to egg Wade on unnecessarily.</p><p>“Doodie calls.” Wade says with a frown. He quickly crosses the roof to where Peter is leaning and smoking and already mourning Wade’s presence.</p><p>“Aw, why the long face, baby?” Wade says. Peter shrugs. It’s a variety of things that make sense in his head, but Peter is worried it won’t sound anywhere near coherent out loud. His nerves are frayed at missing his chance to confess. His body is achy from trying to hold himself up in the face of Tony, who he’s been pointedly avoiding for a few months now.</p><p>“You gonna miss me?” Wade tries, bringing his hands up to cup Peter’s flushed cheeks.</p><p>Peter thinks of what their plans (almost) were for the evening. Smoking with Wade then, once his nerves cooled down, he’d tell him how he feels. Pray to any higher power listening that Wade feels the same way, that he wants this thing to be like <em>a dating thing</em>. Then take-out, probably a movie and, if anyone were listening to Peter’s prayers, they might get to like second base.</p><p>Deciding to be a shit, Peter instigates. Just a little. Just enough to see if Wade will regret leaving. Just enough to give him hope while he smokes the rest of his stash and pushes the fear of rejection out of his brain with The Real Housewives of New York.</p><p>“I’m just going to be <em>so</em> lonely.”  Peter does his best 1940s starlet voice as he wraps his arms around Wade’s neck with a pout. Wade gulps. He wraps one hand around Peter’s waist and runs the other over the top of his own head nervously.</p><p>“I wanna stay, honey-bunches-of-spiders, I do…”</p><p>Peter thinks hard about his next step. Because he already knows kissing on the roof is more fun in theory. This decision is both quick and simple to make. Every considerable surface that Peter could shove Wade up against is littered with sludge. Peter would be more likely to web Wade to the wall because like Peter doesn’t want his clothes getting dirty anyway. But Peter wants to rub both of his hands and also his whole body up on Wade’s whole body. So, if he’s doing the math right, kissing here is a trap.</p><p>Wade, it seems, is not having a similar thought process.</p><p>“We can’t.” Peter mumbles against Wade’s mouth. “Roof Goop!” Is what his blazed brain supplies. Wade inches his thigh further between Peter’s legs teasingly. “And you have to go meet Tony.”</p><p>“Ugh.” Wade supplies, dropping his hands from Peter’s body. “That killed the mood.”</p><p>Wade gracelessly climbs down the fire escape shouting, “I’ll text ya babe!” Leaving Peter to kick a hissing pile of roof goop and overthink his eventual confession even more.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote this before I saw a clip of an Andrew Garfield interview where he says Peter wouldn't get along with Tony. Which I fully support. I think the older Peter gets, the more he'll butt heads with Tony, leading to a very ambivalent relationship.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Textually</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter plans a solo evening. Wade probably shouldn't be let into the New Tower while stoned. They sext. So what!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wanted to finally give you all some Horny Content.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>4.5 <span class="u">Textually</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:07 PM): What do u tihnk I cld steal??/</em>
</p><p><em>Wade (9:08 PM): </em> <em>I’m *eyeball emoji* the booz</em></p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:08 PM): oops I woke tech daddy *blushing emoji*</em>
</p><p>Peter licks his joint closed with a bitten-back smile. It’s been a few hours since Tony unceremoniously stole Wade away from what was <em>supposed</em> to be Peter’s Big Bisexual Feelings Reveal. Peter thinks he’s tamped down on his ego over the years but having your crush literally stolen away from you by your ex-father figure is too emotionally wrought to parse out. So, Peter is going to smoke himself into a weed-coma about it. He doesn’t have any scheduled Spidey meetups and he’s beat from his workday. Plus, tomorrow is his day off. He can afford one night to brood.</p><p>He’s got all of the Brooding Essentials. Sea-salt chocolate caramels from Trader Joe’s, an extremely illegal torrent of Legally Blonde and <em>three</em> joints he’s going to smoke at once. This is Not Pathetic at All. No matter how much he knows every single one of his friends would say the opposite if consulted.</p><p>While he refuses to admit that his brooding is pathetic, he can admit that It’s absolutely <em>silly</em> to get jealous over <em>Tony</em>. Peter logically knows something happening between Tony and Wade is probably one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. It would be the last one the world sees before it explodes. But Peter’s stupid blazed heart is all like, “do you know how close the world is to ending, dummy??” Before he can envision the apocalypse much further, his phone vibrates again.  </p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:31 PM): sorry I cldnt stay bby </em>
  <em>:(</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:32 PM): &lt;/3</em>
</p><p>Peter knows it’s not Wade’s fault. Truly, he’s glad Wade’s skills are getting the attention they deserve. Working with Tony is a good opportunity for him. Despite Peter’s anger at Tony, Peter would never want Wade to turn that down. Not that Peter would admit it out loud but he’d rather Tony and Wade work on a SHIELD mission than SHIELD. He’ll just show Wade what he’s missing.  </p><p>He positions his camera at his lap where he has a joint resting delicately on the jut of his hip, held in place by the elastic of his boxer briefs. Almost out of frame are his abdominal muscles and a trail of thick hair creeping into grey sweatpants. Peter is stoned enough that the reality of sending Wade a sexy pic for the first time doesn’t occur to him until after he hits send.     </p><p>
  <em>Peter (9:39 PM): IMG.1</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter (9:40 PM): wish u were here</em>
</p><p>It’s all Peter can manage without his flushed face fully combusting. They have never texted about their <em>thing.</em> They barely even talk about it when they’re both zooted and hooking up. Peter feels like he’s breaking some sort of tacit boundary. What if Wade is offended? What if Peter seriously upset him and Wade’ll never talk to him again?? Oh fuck, Wade is typing already.</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:42 PM): …I</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:42 PM): *pleading face emoji*</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:42 PM): *bone emoji* *waterdrop emoji*</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:43 PM): u wrap that up all nice for me?</em>
</p><p>Peter nearly drops his phone on his face. Immediately, he lights two joints and inhales. If he’s going to sext his best friend and potentially ruin their friendship when Peter inevitably fucks up, he’s going to need so much more weed.</p><p>
  <em>Peter (9:45 PM): the joint or…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter (9:45 PM): *meat emoji*</em>
</p><p>Should he have sent over another picture? Oh no, what if Tony walks behind Wade and accidentally sees? Just before Peter has the chance to work himself into an anxious froth, Wade immediately texts back.</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:45 PM): oh baby boy</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:45 PM): I’d love 2 get my mouth around both</em>
</p><p>Peter is blushing down to his chest. Their text conversations are never this intense. Peter doesn’t think he’s ever seen Wade send a text without excessive, suggestive emojis. It feels vulnerable to read what Wade wants without any space-fillers. Peter feels giddy, anxious and high at the sensation. He’s also sex-posi enough to admit to pulling his sweats down to his thighs, just in case things get more heated.</p><p>
  <em>Peter (9:47 PM): how bad do you want it?</em>
</p><p>Peter figures it’s best to be frank. He respects Wade too much to try to obfuscate what he wants to do right now. At worst, he can claim a severely horny green-out. Peter can imagine a few of Wade’s usual responses, answers that would pull them out of this incredibly sexy text spiral they’re falling into. Something like ‘<em>as bad as Dawn Davenport wants Cha Cha heels’</em> or <em>‘*tongue emoji* *tongue emoji* *tongue emoji*’. </em></p><p>What Peter is not prepared for is a photo.</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:56 PM): IMG.2</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wade (9:56 PM): this bad</em>
</p><p>Peter doesn’t look immediately. Which is probably how the anticipation manages to make him that much more hot at the thought. The photo is well-lit—something that Peter cannot often say about Wade’s pictures. Wade is in a fancy bathroom, most likely still trapped in the New Tower with Tony. However, the focus of the photo is not the stainless-steel fixtures but hastily rolled-down leather and Kevlar. Peter can see Wade is wearing obscenely tight boxer briefs. His skin isn’t on display, but he also isn’t hiding it as usual. The thick outline of his cock is prominent. Peter gulps.</p><p>The night is not playing out how Peter expected. Ideally, the Feelings would happen before the Fucking. But… Peter is stoned, alone and faced with a photo of Wade’s dick-imprint. It really can’t be helped. Peter risks sending back another photo. This time, the shape of his hard cock is visible. After double-checking that he’s not <em>actually</em> showing dick, he closes his eyes and hits send with an absent thumb.</p><p>It’s only <em>after</em> he cums, while thinking about Wade taking dick pics in the New Avenger’s Tower for him, that Peter realizes he needs to tell Wade how he feels before it actually <em>kills him</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you've all been enjoying this fic! I've had so much fun writing it. I've also very quickly fell in love with burnt out bisexual leftist stoner peter parker so I will probably write more of him down the line.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. At His Wonderful Aunt’s House</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter thinks he fucked up. Aunt May knows the perfect remedy (of course it's weed). Wade is a wise stoner. There is kissing of the French variety.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow hi everyone. Sorry to keep you all waiting so long! You know how it is these days. Global pandemic. Work. Mass shootings. Late-stage capitalism. All those things getting me down. However, I really wanted to finish this story up because I love it so much. Writing stoner Wade and Peter rlly gave me an outlet for all of my gay stoner feelings. I wrote this chapter while stone'd and also edited it while stone'd. </p><p>Shoutout to my gf who was my beta :,)</p><p>Remember Black Trans Lives Matter. Stay well.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <ol>
<li><strong><span class="u">At His Wonderful Aunt’s House</span></strong></li>
</ol><p>Sunday dinners at Aunt Mays are always eventful and <em>always</em> food based. Her chemo treatments have just ended with a hopeful prognosis. Her oncologist highly recommended cannabis as an appetite stimulant. The first place Aunt May made Peter take her to celebrate was the dispensary.</p><p>This Sunday is supposed to be no different than the others. However, it’s been days since Peter texted (sexted) Wade. Not that Peter hadn’t tried to reach out to him but four days in a row of unanswered messages hurts more than three. Since it’s Sunday, Wade should be here soon. And if he’s not? Peter will get himself zooted alone in his childhood bedroom like an adult. So really, it’s a win/win.</p><p>Peter repeats this to himself like a mantra as he walks up to Aunt May’s door. <em>If Wade shows up? Tell him. If Wade doesn’t? Weed coma.</em> He gets to three repetitions before May swings the door open with a soft smile.</p><p>“Peter.” She hugs him softly, holding on for a few seconds extra. Peter buries his head in her shoulder. Grateful for the warm reception after an anxious few days. Then, Peter sniffs the air.</p><p>“Oh my god,” he says, letting the rich fragrance guide him inside. “You’re making your special brownies.”</p><p>May shuts the door behind him and shrugs faux innocently. “A little birdie mentioned you might need a pick-me-up.”</p><p>Peter makes a mental note to thank MJ for her nosiness, just this once. Being inside his childhood home eases some of the tension resting on his shoulders. Peter didn’t realize how wound up he’d been about Wade ignoring him until now.  He feels warm and engulfed in comfort. May steers him toward the kitchen table with a hand on his back.</p><p>“Sit down, Peter. You look tired. Can I get you something to drink?”</p><p>Peter takes a brief hit from his vape. Aunt May laughs in a way that makes Peter’s chest feel lighter. “Water it is.” She says, grabbing the largest cup she owns.</p><p>“Best to stay hydrated today.” Peter replies, not hesitating to reach into the ceramic box stashed in the center of the table. He pulls out a lighter, rolling paper and a small grinder. The former and the latter clink together like glass bells. Peter can hear May reaching into the freezer for ice and placing the glass <em>just right</em> under the old water filter to get it to work.</p><p>When she returns, Peter is licking a joint closed. May gently places the water on a coaster and plucks the joint from Peter’s grasp. “Let’s open a window and talk before everyone gets here.” She says gently. Peter, craving for his Aunt May to tell him it’ll be okay, follows her wordlessly.</p><p>They sit in their usual spot; Peter curled into the corner of the sofa with May across from him in her favorite chair. The window in the living-room is open all the way, letting in enough fresh air to sweep out the weed smell. May also lit her favorite candle. She’s become an expert at de-scenting her house.</p><p>With a sigh from deep in his chest, Peter begins telling her. He starts at the kissing. Specifically, how they don’t talk about it. Then he explains how he’s never been close to anyone like he has Wade. How he knows Wade wants Spiderman and not Peter. He stutters over the part where everyone seems to know something that Peter himself doesn’t about his relationship with Wade. Peter completely omits the sexting part. He has some boundaries. What he does say is:</p><p>“He hasn’t talked to me in four days and,” Peter looks down at his phone and frowns, “seventeen hours!” The groan he lets out hurts his throat.</p><p>“Wade hates my guts and only wants to date Spiderman!”</p><p>“Peter, of course he loves you.” May says earnestly. Like she believes it! Like she’s not absolutely bias since she like, raised Peter and everything! As if she didn’t deal with his Big Bisexual Crisis firsthand. Peter remembers what a mess he made in all of his botched attempts to approach the conversation. Poor May had to finally ask Peter if he had something he wanted to talk about, while pointedly looking at Peter’s poorly concealed Spider-suit. That night, somehow, Peter managed to confess both of his biggest secrets to his Aunt.  </p><p>“You can’t <em>know that!</em>” Peter says with his mouth full of smoke.</p><p>Aunt May rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her “herbal” tea. There’s a brief silence. One where Peter fidgets and wonders how he can explain to his extremely loving aunt that he is actually extremely unlovable. She ruins it by smiling at him. By looking at him in a way that makes him feel like Captain America is standing behind him because there is no way anyone can look at <em>Peter</em> like that.</p><p>“Peter,” she begins softly. “You deserve so much love. And that man?” She takes a sip, locking eyes with him. “Loves the shit out of you.”</p><p>Peter lets out a groan that seems to rattle the walls.</p><p>“Do you know if he’s coming?” Peter asks hesitantly, equally afraid of both a negative and affirmative answer.</p><p>Her eyes twinkle but she simply shrugs. Peter is fucked.</p><p>It doesn’t take long for people to show up. May’s tiny apartment is soon <em>packed</em>. Peter waves at people who notice him as he slinks through. He knows no number of light footsteps will hide him from Wade once he arrives, but it helps Peter’s anxiety about the situation. He even manages to talk with Gwen’s girlfriend, Cassie, about her current research projects. There are a few times he has to hide behind an unamused Gwen or various pieces of occupied furniture when he thinks he sees flashes of red…But, overall, Peter thinks he’s doing okay! No sign of Wade yet.</p><p>After a good forty-five minutes of sneaking, Peter remembers his mantra from this morning and decides now is a good time to get zooted in his childhood bedroom. He’ll sit on the fire escape, the way he used to as a teenager, and definitely not brood about the inevitability of Wade appearing to let him down gently. <em>I deserve it</em>, he thinks ruefully.</p><p>Pushing the door open, Peter is bombarded with a huge poster of the periodic table, dinosaur skeleton models with polaroid photos taped on them and a hulking man in a familiar leather and Kevlar suit lounging on his bed. All of Peter’s Definitely Not-Brooding plans have left him like his breath. Wade looks up.</p><p>“Was wondering what took you so long.” He mutters crossing and uncrossing then recrossing his outstretched legs. Peter walks straight to the window and opens it. Immediately, he lights a joint. Wade simply watches from the bed. It’s hard to make out his face but Peter can see the movement of his eyes under the mask, following him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” is what Peter leads with. He cares more about Wade’s presence in his life than he does about the labels on their relationship. His respect for Wade is exactly why it’s more pressing to repair the damage between them before discussing any potentially romantic matters.</p><p>Rather than looking relieved, Wade looks wary. “What for?”</p><p>Peter pushes on. He needs Wade to understand how much he means to Peter before he rejects Peter. Not that it’ll help his chances, but Peter needs Wade to know. He deserves that much.</p><p>“You’re the best fucking person I know,” Peter begins. Wade’s expression is frozen in neutral but rapidly crashing into <em>MTV’s My Super Sweet 16</em> “Daddy-didn’t-get-me-a-car” territory.</p><p>“You have to know how much I love you.” Peter chokes up a little but is proud of how much of his composure he’s able to keep. Wade is turning away from him slightly, toying with a loose thread on Peter’s old comforter. His posture has coiled.</p><p>“But,” Wade’s voice rings out. “you’re just not that into me, huh? Of all the ways to do me, Pete, you do me like <em>that one</em>? I would have accepted being Gone Girled. At least that one is bloodier.”</p><p>Now it is Peter’s turn to be confused and tentative. “Wait, what? I’m not going to <em>pretend to die, </em>frame you then cut off Neil Patrick Harris’ <em>dick.”</em> Peter squints at Wade’s profile. Wade is pointedly staring at the shelf of Peter’s old bookcase where Peter used to hide his porn.</p><p>“Wade, are you fucking with me?”</p><p>“I’ve always been a <em>See the Boys as They Walk on by</em> type, anyway.” Wade mumbles, pulling himself up to sit on his legs. Peter is emitting smoke like a failed Iron Man prototype.</p><p>“You? I’m not walking anywhere. I’ve been here the whole time.” Peter mumbles. “You just want <em>Spiderman</em>.” Peter doesn’t mean to blurt this out. He’d been keeping this particular anxiety close to his chest and cringes now that it’s out in the open. Wade slowly turns to face him fully. His mask is betraying nothing of his emotional state.</p><p>“Peter, what?” He sounds hurt. Which, like, of course he’s hurt! Peter always manages to make the people he loves the most get hurt. It’s painful but unsurprising that he’s still doing it now. Big Dumbass Energy.</p><p>“Fuck. I always do this. I’m always better or smarter or cooler as Spiderman. And as Peter? I just make people hurt.” Peter hopes it doesn’t sound as pathetic as it feels but judging by the way Wade’s mask changes shape, Peter knows it does.</p><p>“Baby boy, I…do you really think I feel that way?” Rather than confirming The Truth (as Peter knows it), Wade sounds genuinely surprised.</p><p>“I mean, I get it.” Peter says distantly. “I’d want Spiderman over Peter too.” Oh no, he’s spiraling. He didn’t mean to! Especially not in front of Wade. He smoked too much too soon and now his emotions have started pirouetting and spinning and vomiting.</p><p>“I should have known I was coming on too strong.” Peter bemoans. “I fucking knew sending that second picture fucked things up and you never wanted to talk to me again! I went too far and you only want—”</p><p>Wade shoots up from his reclined position and holds up a hand to stop Peter’s spiral.</p><p>“What do you mean, second picture?” Wade’s mask is scrunched up by his forehead which means his brows are furrowed.</p><p>Peter is confused now. “Wait, you didn’t get the pic of my uh.” He peeks his head out his bedroom door to get a quick look around his aunt’s apartment. To make sure no one is eavesdropping. Johnny is hitting on Aunt May which Peter will need to remedy as soon as the current sitch is handled. No one seems to be looking for Peter though. Once he’s confident their conversation is secure, Peter shuts the door again and mumbles, “super-hard dick?”</p><p>Wade barks out a painful sounding laugh. “Don’t fuck with me, Pete.” His voice is razor-sharp. His body is tilted away from Peter, as if he’s going to bolt right out of Peter’s life any second.</p><p>Peter rolls his eyes and fishes into his pocket for his phone. “I’m not fucking with you, Wade. Look.” He throws his phone, currently displaying his junk, at Wade’s face. Wade’s dummy fast reflexes stop the phone from breaking his nose. While he looks at the screen, he’s silent.</p><p>“Oh.” He says softly. As if all of the hurt deflated. Like Peter punched the fight out of him and now all that’s left is confusion.</p><p>“How did you…<em>Fuck.</em> Did this shit not send?” Peter glares at his phone from across the room. Wade checks, and nods slowly. Then it clicks.</p><p>“Jesus <em>fuck</em>.” Wade swears, whites of his mask wide. He points at Peter accusingly. “So, you <em>actually</em> want to fuck me?”</p><p>Peter flushes brightly. Unsure if the sudden warmth in the room is due to his high or the abrupt return of their sexual tension. Most likely a combination of the two.</p><p>“You thought I was making out with you to be <em>polite</em>?” Peter exclaims.</p><p>Wade is standing at the window now, grasping the joint out of Peter’s hands. After pushing his mask up past his nose, Wade inhales deeply.</p><p>Through a mouthful of smoke he wirily says, “Or to get good kush.”</p><p>Peter steals the joint as Wade chuckles self-deprecatingly. “This is my <em>medicine</em>, Wade! I have a prescription for the cheapest mids at my local dispensary.”</p><p>Wade waggles the top of his mask in the direction of the nearly-finished J. “That <em>does not</em> taste like anything cheap.” His voice is raspy—pitched lower now that they’re standing closer</p><p>Peter nudges Wade’s shoulder lightly. “I’m taking full advantage of May’s stash.”</p><p>Wade guffaws, “A dame after mine own heart.” Then quieter, he says, “I thought you were just humoring me. Like, why would you want all of this.” He gestures vaguely to his body in a way that is heartbreakingly familiar to Peter. Partially because he’s seen Wade get this way before and also, because it’s how Peter gestures to himself, like, all the time.</p><p>Now, he thinks about his own fears. His worries about going further with Wade. What if their friendship crumbled? What if it doesn’t work out? What if he really does only want Spiderman? But, in this moment, watching Wade watch him with awe and surprise, Peter knows he can handle it.</p><p>“I do.” Peter says decisively then continues. “Do you want all of <em>this</em>.” He gestures to himself in the same self-deprecating way. Wade pauses, delicately ashing their joint in Peter’s 10<sup>th</sup> grade science-fair volcano.</p><p>“What do <em>you</em> mean, Pete?” His voice is incredulous. As if he can’t imagine Peter being unsure of himself.</p><p>“That!” Peter points at Wade’s face with one hand and snatches the joint back with his other. “<em>Peter</em>.” He puts his own name in air-quotes before continuing. “Don’t you want to like, smoke weed out of Spiderman’s ass or something?”</p><p>“First of all,” Wade starts quickly, “I said that to Weasel in confidence five years ago. Before I even had the <em>pleasure</em> of knowing the cutie behind the mask.”</p><p>Peter rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Second of all.” Wade raises his middle finger to accompany his pointer—waving the ‘V’ shape through Peter’s exhaled smoke. “I’m pretty sure <em>you’re</em> Spiderman, Pete.”</p><p>“That!” Peter says again in a lilted sing-song. “Is where you’re wrong, stud! <em>Spiderman</em> is Spiderman. Look around!” Peter gestures to his childhood posters, particularly his collection of framed Carl Sagan quotes he had gotten nearly every year for his birthday from Uncle Ben.</p><p>“<em>This</em> is me.” Peter lets this hang in the air. Waiting for Wade to get the sign that Peter is a washed-up nerd. It’s not difficult for his high to shift from euphoric to depressive, especially when he’s forced to confront his ultimate fear of rejection—of not measuring up to a version of himself he’s not quite sure <em>is</em> all him. Peter has spent years trying to untie Spiderman from Peter Parker. It’s impossible to do without cutting all of the knots. So mostly, Peter leaves them be. But Wade, that absolute fucker, loves to pry.</p><p>“And <em>this</em> is Spiderman” Wade pokes at Peter’s stuttering heart with a sharp prod. “<em>This</em> too. Even if it can be dense as fuck” He adds, now poking at Peter’s skull.</p><p>“Wade, you don’t <em>get it</em>.”</p><p>“What?” Wade asks abruptly, making firm eye contact with Peter through a haze of smoke. His jaw is set determinedly. “I don’t get having to reconcile drastically variant versions of myself like I’m out of my fucking goddamn gourd? To struggle with some <em>mild</em> addictions to violence? To not feel good enough?” This last part is whispered. Peter thinks, if he closed his eyes, he’d be able to taste the words on his own tongue. He imagines they’d taste like empathy. Boundless and with a tiny bit of umami for flavor.</p><p>Peter has also been Spiderman long enough to at least <em>acknowledge</em> he has a thing for violence. Hazily, he thinks Wade’s hand would fit around his neck perfectly. The chill that suddenly overcomes Peter leaves him flushed.</p><p>“I’m not so good at,” Wade stutters then gags a bit, “<em>emotions</em>. But I don’t really know how to make it any more obvious that I’ve been into you.” Peter is still smoking. The joint is almost gone but Peter is willing to roll another one to keep the conversation going. He and Wade tend to get to the core of things when they’re stoned.</p><p>“Like okay.” Wade straightens. After stretching his neck and shaking his hands, Wade looks back at Peter earnestly. Peter is a deer in the headlights trying to hide a huge boner.</p><p>“Remember that time I had Weasel check in on you?”</p><p>Peter is confused. And that boner he was working on is gone.</p><p>“Wow can’t tell if you’re into me or him” Peter says dryly.</p><p>Wade pulls a face.</p><p>“Ew, Pete. Also let me fucking finish. I was out of town. I knew you wouldn’t wait for me to tail that union busting <em>fuck</em> and I knew he’d try to break in your kneecaps. So, I cashed in on my last favor with Weasel and forced him to find you my favorite street doc.”</p><p>Peter winces at the memory. He had been entirely motivated by revenge. Marco, notable iron-knuckled plumber’s union-busting motherfucker, had been known to swing adamantium bats. Peter had quickly decided to bust his nose. Weasel, after hunting Peter down through some fucking covert camera system around the entire goddamn city, reported back to Wade that his ‘twink assed Spider-hero’ had his knees busted.</p><p>“The minute I finished that job I got on a jet.” Wade says seriously. “I have never killed someone so fast in my fucking life, Pete. I thought I was going to lose you and I freaked the fuck out.”</p><p>Peter has stopped being phased at Wade’s explicit recounting of his hits years prior. After seeing how cops treat their white buddies committing heinous crimes versus how they’d treat people of color on marijuana charges, Peter understands some evil can’t be reformed. Now, he’s touched at Wade’s admission.</p><p>“Your street doc got me <em>stoned-stoned</em>.” Peter laughs fondly around a wisp of smoke. “Like, ‘I’m sticking to everything’ stoned.”</p><p>Wade chuckles, breaking the tense line of his shoulders. What was somber is soft again. “It’s hard to get you that fucked up.”</p><p>“Damn straight.” Peter nods, eyes crinkling around the edges.</p><p>There’s a silence between them. Filled with zooming traffic and the low hum of the rusty radiator. Wade is fidgeting with the lighter, alternating between glancing at Peter’s lips and faux-absently scanning the room. With the silence comes warmth. There’s fondness in the heavy smell of cannabis mixed with Kevlar and sweat.</p><p>Wade’s scent and weed have already formed a specific oxytocin-centric neuronal pathway in Peter’s brain. Adding in the comforting smell of his childhood home? Peter is too focused on the fact that something this good is happening to him rather than fixating on how he’ll ruin it. Peter’s anxiety has faded. After discovering his feelings are reciprocated, Peter is able to lean into the temptation of Wade and Weed and Home all mingling together in his mind.</p><p>Peter slowly peels off Wades mask. There is no hesitance nor anxiety. Wade leans in like a fat cat being petted under the chin. Despite making out regularly for the past few months, this kiss feels new. At Peter’s moan of relief, Wade drops the lighter. The “clink” of it hitting the floor is drowned out by all of the blood rushing from Peter’s brain back to his dick.</p><p>Peter’s eyes feel heavy, like swollen pillows. Or wet marshmallows. Movement is dreamlike but leaning into Wade, feeling his soft exhale across his face just before their lips touch again is the realest Peter has ever felt.</p><p>It’s like he’s being set on fire—an aching, burning beginning in his lips and curling through his guts. When they open their mouths, tongues brushing, Peter can taste heavy smoke. Wade must have dropped their joint into the volcano because there’s a loud hissing. Now, Wade’s strong thigh is wedged between Peter’s, teasingly pinning him in place. The air feels charged. Peter is considering moving the party to his old dinky twin bed because <em>fuck</em> he’s been impatient to really get his mouth on Wade. He’d be in absolute heaven if all of that fucking beeping would stop!</p><p>The door bursts open. Peter and Wade startle apart. MJ sprays them with a fire extinguisher.</p><p>“I don’t know what I expected.” She says dryly as she takes in their goop-covered startled expressions. “Even when you two do something <em>right</em> you set something on fucking fire.” Behind her is a small crowd of onlookers. Gwen is stifling laughs into a smirking Cassie’s shoulder. May is wearing her “I Told You So” face while Johnny Storm yawns, stretching his arm over her shoulder. His other had is steadily holding his phone—most definitely recording. Bastard.</p><p>Wade wipes the white foam from his eyes. Through a feigned bashful smile he says, “Wow. Pete. I…this usually doesn’t happen to me. I just got so excited.”</p><p>Peter is folded over in a fit of laughter. He thinks he says something like, “don’t talk about premature ejaculation in front of my aunt.” But it’s lost in the sounds of his favorite fucking people laughing with him. Wade’s hand is soft on his hip—a promise Peter will (sexily) hold him to after the party is over. At Peter’s own home. With all joints carefully ashed. Wade’s smile, when everyone else has looked away, curls into Peter’s chest as if it’s been there forever.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was so stoked to write Stoner Aunt May. I hope I did her justice.</p><p>Please leave a comment! I always love to hear what everyone's fav parts are too &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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